


Midnight Snack

by sweetdreamsofgelato (Dolceamara)



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Brief Kissing, F/M, mild emotional angst, slight existential crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26303947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolceamara/pseuds/sweetdreamsofgelato
Summary: After a long business engagement, Henry takes you out on a midnight snack run. (anon request)
Relationships: Henry Cavill & Reader, Henry Cavill & You, Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Kudos: 31





	Midnight Snack

The evening was finally ending; the kitchen had long since closed and the after-dinner coffee sat cold in forgotten cups. Beleaguered and weary waitstaff cleared away piles of abandoned dishes as the din of lively conversations faded into quiet goodbyes. As guests slowly filtered out of the restaurant, Henry quickly rose from his seat, one hand resting gently on the nape of your neck and the other shaking the hand of his colleague as he bid him goodnight.

"Thank you for being so patient. You must be exhausted." Henry dropped a kiss behind your ear before gently pulling your chair away from the table. His voice was low and edged in weariness.

"It was fun to meet the people you work with." You pointedly avoided admitting to any fatigue. Not so much because you weren't tired, but rather you didn't wish for Henry to feel any sense of guilt because of it.

You wobbled slightly as you followed Henry to his car, curling your pinched toes as they tingled with returning circulation. Mentally, you were fine, but a long evening of sitting had taken its toll.

"Would you be opposed to a small detour? I am in the mood for snacks," he asked, once you were both settled into the car.

You glanced at your watch. "At half-past midnight? What on earth is still open?"

"I might know a place nearby." 

There was a playful lilt to his voice, but the exhaustion in his eyes was undeniable. Your gaze rested on his fingers, which restlessly drummed the steering wheel.

"You have a regular spot for midnight snacks?"

"I'm an actor," he shrugged, "we work odd hours." The statement was more weighted than he'd intended, you were sure.

"Fair point."

"Is that no to snacks?"

You swiftly turned to him in disbelief, "I have not once, in my entire life, said no to snacks." And you hadn't, on the principle that life was far too short to do so.

Henry chuckled as he threw the car into gear, heading in the opposite direction of home. It wasn't long before he turned off onto a side road and pulled into a small 24 hour service station. Upon entering, Henry genially greeted the clerk, who seemed completely unperturbed that a world-famous actor had strode into his service station in the middle of the night.

How many snack runs was Henry making, if he was already on a first-name basis with the person running the night shift?

Deciding not to question it (plausible deniability was most definitely a thing), you made quick work of gathering your favourite guilty pleasures before heading back onto the road.

"Do you mind if we make another detour?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

You nodded, "Whatever you need."

Admittedly, the midnight excursion wasn't entirely surprising. Henry's job required an inordinate amount of energy and self-discipline. A degree of focus that certainly did not come without a cost, that usually manifested in a torturous accumulation of physical and mental pressure that didn't immediately ease once his work was completed. Most of the weeks immediately following the end of any project were spent dealing with the collective fallout. Requisite escapism took many forms.

You rested your forehead against the cool glass, watching the trees whisper past as you sped down the deserted road. It was plain that something weighed on his mind, but you felt it unwise to pry whilst he was driving.

The car slowed and turned, heading down a narrow, earthen path into the wood. Henry cautiously navigated the bumps and dips, following the well-worn drive through the trees. After a few moments, the wood gave way to a large clearing surrounding a small lake. Quiet in the stillness of the night.

"Peaceful," you remarked without elaboration.

"I found it during an early morning run. It's a great spot to come and think if no one is around."

He parked in front of the water and wasted no time getting comfortable. After reclining his seat, he snagged your bag of treats from the back.

You followed suit, easing your seat back from the dash so that you could comfortably take in the view through the windscreen.

"Hand."

You held out our hand to him as requested, watching quietly as he ripped open a small package of candies with his teeth. He emptied the bag into his own hand, carefully plucking out the ones he knew to be your favourites and dropping them into your waiting palm.

"And what is it that you've been thinking?" you finally asked.

Henry didn't answer immediately; he leaned into his seat, idly popping sweets into his mouth as he shuffled his thoughts.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should do something more meaningful."

You stopped midchew, "Acting is what you love, isn't it?" 

"It is."

"What makes you think it isn't meaningful?"

"It's not that I feel it has no meaning," he paused thoughtfully. "Sometimes I just wonder if it's enough. Am I doing enough? Am I enough?" His voice vibrated with something akin to existential anguish.

He watched the night sky. A starry expanse that stretched to infinity. He watched it as you often watched him: with a mixture of love, admiration, and reverential unease. It was impossible to gaze into something - or someone - so immensely mystifying (no matter how beautiful) and not feel some degree of insignificance.

"For whom?"

"Me. You. Everyone. The universe," he gestured broadly.

You swallowed before unleashing your response.

"Henry, you don't owe anything to anyone other than yourself." 

He knew this and you knew he did, but it was undeniable that recognising your own self-worth was exceedingly more difficult when you were emotionally tapped out. Sometimes one needed to be reminded.

You moved to face him, making sure you had his full attention, "You can't expect to mean everything to everyone or change the entire world on your own, and no one expects it of you. If you want to argue about the degree of impact we all have, I think it's important to remember that small does not equate to insignificant. Everything has a ripple effect, to benefit or detriment or both, depending on the intention." 

When he didn't respond, you explained further, "The work you do. The love and care you put into creating your art is impactful. Perhaps you're providing someone with a means of escape, or inspiration to follow their own dreams or making them feel something when they thought themselves incapable of feeling anything at all. That is absolutely significant, in every possible way."

He raised an eyebrow at you and his lips ticked upward as he wrestled with some sort of internal amusement.

"What?" you asked, slightly vexed but curious more than anything else.

"You're in a particularly philosophical mood tonight." He curled one arm behind his head, relaxing into his seat as he watched the stars again.

"Sugar rush," you quipped before motioning at him. "Hand."

He let out an exasperated sigh, reluctantly holding his other palm out to you. You dropped the remainder of your sweets into his hand, because they were his favourite as well and he'd given them all to you.

Henry gave unconditionally, even if it meant sacrificing something he'd otherwise like to keep for himself. His stubbornness in not asking for anything in return was not a character flaw by definition, but it could sometimes border on unhealthy. Everything was give and take. He deserved to receive just as much, if not more than he routinely gave. Convincing him of this was an entirely different matter altogether, so you often took a less verbal position on it, and he no longer tried to argue when you mirrored his generosity. Actions would always be louder than words, even if both were equally important.

"If it helps, you are enough for me," you said quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed in the wake of your emotional rampage.

"It does," he replied. Henry popped the last candy into his mouth before shifting, the great weight of him making the car groan in protest as he moved to hover over you. "Thank you."

His fingers slid behind your neck, drawing you into a slow, leisurely kiss. His tongue slipped easily into your mouth, depositing the last candy within before quickly pulling away.

He just had to have the last word (in a manner of speaking). It was frustratingly typical, but it was Henry.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @ https://sweetdreamsofgelato.tumblr.com/


End file.
